


Mutant and Proud

by Blizzardpaw



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Imprisonment, Mutants, Physical Abuse, Slavery, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-05-29 22:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15082958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blizzardpaw/pseuds/Blizzardpaw
Summary: The rift between mutants and humans gradually grew until its breaking point. Mankind's fear of mutants created internment camps that now imprison known mutants in an attempt to keep humans safe. Surviving the camps is almost impossible, so escape is inconceivable.





	1. Another Day...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first fanfiction that I have ever shared! I would love to hear what you think of it! Thank you for reading and enjoy!

“Mutant and proud” was a movement that sparked decades ago to help mutants integrate into society. Now, it is a phrase uttered scornfully by mutants whose genetic discrepancy has given them a death sentence. 

Today, no mutant walks the streets alongside humans. No parents worry about their child having a mutant teacher. No lover worries their significant other is a mutant. Mutants are kept at a safe distance, in what have known to be called “camps.” 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The lights flickered on, illuminating the room with their sickening yellow glow. Their dull electronic buzz was enough to wake the young man who was previously sleeping in a bunk. He rubbed his eyes as they adjusted to the painful light.

Taking a deep breath, he swung his legs so they dangled off the side of the bed and pushed off with his arms, landing gracefully on the concrete floor. He glanced at the vacant bottom bunk before making his way to the mirror hanging above the sink. 

He splashed some of the ice cold water onto his face before turning his back on the mirror. A metal cage held his wings tightly in their folded position. Leather straps criss crossed his bare chest to keep the cage firmly in place. The once pearly white wings were now a dusty grey and left a trail of feathers. The muscles in his wings ached from their prolonged cramped position and he longed for the cage to be removed so he could stretch them for the first time in years.

A low electronic hum signaled the start of the day and the door to the winged man’s cell clanked open. He sighed in defeat as other men began shuffling past his door. For a while, he was intrigued by the men he shared quarters with. They were all mutants, some with visible mutations, others without. Watching them was once an interesting pastime, but it now made him sick to his stomach.

After a few moments, he joined the procession towards the cafeteria. Fully armed guards ushered them to move quicker. He averted his eyes from theirs. The scars on his bare torso reminded him of the reward for defiance. The government had once required all mutants received a dose of the “cure” daily, but providing enough for the growing number of mutant prisoners proved to be much too costly. Now, mutants are just beaten until they are broken and are too scared to use their powers. 

The cafeteria served the same food every day, anything different was too costly. For breakfast, each prisoner got a pile of inconsistently burnt or undercooked scrambled eggs and a piece of bread that could easily be mistaken for a bread-shaped rock. 

After collecting his pitiful meal, the young man took his regular seat between two other mutants that were the closest things to friends he had in the prison. On his left was a woman capable of turning inanimate objects and small living creatures to ash simply by touching them. They pondered cutting her hands off, but opted for permanent gloves instead. On his right was a man who once had fangs of a viper and could kill another person with just a bite. His fangs were ripped from his mouth and he occasionally flicked his forked tongue against the gums where his terrifying teeth once jutted from. 

They never shared their real names with one another. They each had nicknames before they were rounded up into camps. Those nicknames have changed since their imprisonment. The once deadly “Viper” became “Scurvy” when his fangs were violently torn from his skull. “Phoenix,” leaving nothing but piles of ash behind her became “Eskimo” when she was known more for her permanent winter gear than her fiery power. The winged “Angel” became “Songbird” when his wings were clipped and freedom locked away. They were now misfits, as was everyone else in the forsaken camp.

“Is the caged bird gonna sing for us today?” Eskimo jabbed as she grabbed hold of the cage locking his wings in place. The unexpected movement caused his wings to flutter involuntarily and connected with the sides of the cage with a dull thud. The young man winced as a handful of feathers floated onto the bench. He dusted them off and sat down.

“You know, I’m jealous that you get to wear gloves all the time. It’s fucking freezing in here and they haven’t even bothered to give me a shirt.” The winged man joked as he pulled on the leather straps across his bare chest for emphasis.

The woman grunted in muffled laughter. “Keep being an asshole and I’ll call the guards on you. Maybe you’ll catch a few more beatings from them. Scar tissue has less nerve endings. It keeps you warmer I’ve heard.” She smirked at him and gave his arm a light slap.

“Don’t be giving the kid any ideas, now.” Scurvy began with a lisp through his two missing teeth. “He’ll beg for death by breakfast tomorrow and I won’t be able to give him the sweet relief.” Scurvy grabbed Songbird by the hair and leaned his head back to expose his throat. Scurvy leaned in towards the winged man’s neck and bared his teeth as though preparing to bite the man. Obviously unable to do any damage, Scurvy straightened up and gave Songbird a sharp smack on the back of the head.

Songbird scornfully rubbed the back of his head and gave Scurvy a glare. “I get it, I get it. I’ve survived this long in the cold. It just seemed like an awfully fine day to do some complaining.” 

The three returned to their meals and ate as much as they could stomach. All of the prisoners were starving. They were all horribly gaunt and it was not uncommon for them to faint or fall ill due to malnutrition. It also was not uncommon for some of the stronger mutants to take meals from the weaker. 

Songbird and his companions would be considered weaker among the prisoners. Their mutations could be completely subdued without the cure. Some of the prisoners were strength mutants, and strength can only be physically subdued to a point. And they were not separated from the weaker prisoners in any way.

The Juggernaut and his posse were the strongest in this prison. Juggernaut was a stupid brute, but he certainly was a brute. He was sadistic and cruel and the guards had no problem turning a blind eye to the horrors he enjoyed inflicting on other inmates. And Juggernaut had no problem proving he was the strongest in the camp and all other inmates were below him. Sometimes Juggernaut would commit an act so atrocious, he would be locked in solitary for a few days. Unfortunately, this day, Juggernaut roamed free from solitary.

Songbird, Eskimo, and Scurvy almost always sat at an empty table. There was not a lot of trust within the camp. This made them easy targets. Just the three of them were no match for Juggernaut and his brainwashed thugs.

They quickly surrounded the table that the lone three inmates were sitting at. Juggernaut slammed his fist on the table, which caused the three of them to flinch. “My friends are hungry.” He stated expectantly, his words laced with threat. Scurvy was quick to push his tray away from himself and towards Juggernaut. Eskimo hesitated for a heartbeat, but eventually followed suit, pushing her tray towards the brute who stood across from them. Songbird watched his two companions curiously. Fellow mutants were all they had left in the world and it didn’t seem right to submit to one. 

Juggernaut smirked, obviously pleased to have a disobedient subject. “I ate a songbird once.” The brute casually explained as he sat down opposite the three companions. “It was a rather disgusting meal, but I was very hungry, you see. There’s hardly any meat on its bones, but it's not a bad option if you’re starving. Actually, its bones were the best thing about it. They were small enough that I could use them to pick its own flesh out of my teeth once I was finished eating it.” 

With more speed than expected from such a large man, Juggernaut grabbed Songbird’s forearm. Songbird immediately began struggling uselessly as Juggernaut only tightened his grip. Clenching and unclenching his hand, Songbird’s fear-filled eyes met Juggernaut’s narrowed ones.

“Your bones are quite small as well.” Juggernaut continued as he yanked the winged man’s arm towards him. “Not much meat on these bones either.” The brute licked his lips thoughtfully. “Not to mention, it probably doesn’t taste much better than bird.” He squeezed Songbird’s arm even harder. “But I’m sure it’ll do the trick if I do get hungry enough.” The brute slammed the smaller man’s arm against the hard, metal table and sauntered away after grabbing the bread-shaped rock from his tray. 

Songbird sighed in relief as his arm was freed. He pulled it close to his chest and vigorously rubbed it as a red handprint blossomed across it. It was hot to the touch and Songbird pressed it onto the cool metal of the table for relief. He sat still for a few moments, waiting for his heart to calm its attempts to escape his chest.

His two companions stood turned to leave for the courtyard. Scurvy grabbed Songbird’s shoulders and hissed his words of advice into his ear, “Keep your head down. Don’t pull another stunt like that if you know what’s good for you.” Songbird nodded slowly, knowing he would likely continue to regret his insubordination. Rarely did Juggernaut let people off with just a verbal warning.

Watching his friends leave the cafeteria for the courtyard, Songbird pushed himself to his feet. He eyed the second procession of the day. Streams of people now poured into the courtyard, which was a place Songbird dreaded. People grouped together in the courtyard and the young winged man could not seem to find the group he belonged in. He often stood alone, which made him vulnerable to being tormented by some of the groups that happened to be bored that morning.

He also dreaded the courtyard half of the year because it was freezing and he was not allowed a jacket due to his condition. Today was a part of the freezing half of the year. Walking into the yard, Songbird was hit with a blast of icy air. His breath swirled in clouds before him and the frozen blades of grass crunched beneath his shoes. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around his bare torso in a feeble attempt to retain some warmth.

Walking to the far side of the yard, Songbird stood in an empty corner, hoping the others would simply ignore his existence. The far end of the yard was closest to the prison entrance, so Songbird would often watch the busses and visitors come and go. Today was especially exciting because there appeared to be a rally of some sort right outside the gates. Many humans still disagree with the decision to imprison all mutants and continue to voice their opinion about it. Songbird always wondered if some of the humans out there fighting for him were actually mutants who were able to hide their mutations. 

Turning to face the center of the courtyard, Songbird watched the other inmates with mild interest. Most of them were making use of the single basketball and court. They sprinted across the asphalt in one direction, only to turn and sprint in the other. It seemed rather redundant to the winged man, though he admitted that it would likely keep him warm.

Most of the inmates that were not playing basketball were gathered in tight circles surrounding decks of cards. They liked to attempt to win things from each other. At the moment, it appeared one of the groups was playing for a half empty water bottle. Songbird grew bored of watching the card game as one of the players triumphantly grabbed the water bottle and held it above his head. 

Suddenly there was a symphony of whistles that signified the end of their time in the courtyard. Songbird was thankful because his arms felt as though they were about to fall off from the bitter cold. The rally outside the gates grew louder after they heard the whistles and watched the inmates start to file back into the prison. Songbird remembered to count the days until the next rally. It had been 13 days since the last one and they were becoming more and more scarce every day.

They were all ushered back into the cafeteria for lunch where Songbird sighed in relief as the warm and humid air surrounded him. He waited in line for their monotonous lunch of overcooked chicken and bread-shaped rocks before heading to the usual table to sit with his companions. 

The dry and stringy chicken was disgusting, but Songbird ate it as quickly as he could because after lunch was his favorite part of the day. After being surrounded by fellow inmates all the time, he could finally have a few hours to himself. After lunch was the time where they were all to do their assigned jobs. Many inmates worked in the kitchen or in the laundry rooms, but Songbird worked as a cleaner where he would mop the vacant hallways in solitude. It was relaxing to finally have the peace he’s been waiting for all day.

He quickly excused himself from the table and rushed to the supply closet that stored the mop. He grabbed it and quickly set to work as large groups of inmates poured out of the cafeteria to head to their jobs. Songbird waited as they shuffled away and began his work. Once he was alone, he felt calm. 

As he mopped the floor, he found himself growing jealous of the people at the rally. They probably were all at home by now with their families. He longed for that. He was also mad at the rally. Nothing they did was enough. Nothing has changed in the years he had been in this prison. They just stood there with their signs and the rest of the world ignored them.

Shaking his head to clear it, he returned to studying the floor as he dragged the sopping mop across it. He heard footsteps approaching, which was highly unusual, so his head snapped to their source. Songbird eyed a guard suspiciously as he neared the winged man. 

“Listen to me.” The guard said in a hushed voice, grabbing Songbird by the shoulder to pull him closer. “You’re not alone here.” Songbird pushed away from the guard to give him a bewildered look. 

The guard hurriedly pulled Songbird towards him again and continued. “We’re going to transfer you and your friends to a different facility. There are people there that can help you. They’ll find you once you get there.” 

Before Songbird had a chance to respond, the guard had already turned his back to him and began walking away. Songbird furrowed his brows in confusion and continued to mop until he heard the stampede approaching that signaled it was time for dinner. 

He tucked the mop back into the closet and joined the crowd of people into the cafeteria for the final time that day. Dinner consisted of sad excuse for pasta topped with marinara sauce with a side of bread-shaped rocks. As usual he took his tray of food and sat with his companions. 

Songbird pushed the food around on his plate as he thought on the strange exchange he had earlier. His eyes scanned the cafeteria for the guard he had spoken to, but he had no such luck. 

“You’re much quieter than usual.” Eskimo observed as she watched him study his food intently.

“Oh. Oh! I guess I’m just a little lost in my head right now.” Songbird explained as Eskimo pulled him from his thoughts.

“Oh, no. We like you much better this way. Stay lost, would you?” Scurvy emphasized his joke with a jab to Songbird’s ribs. Songbird smirked at the other man and Scurvy gave him an exaggerated wink. 

“Screw off. I’m going to bed.” Songbird stated as he stood up from the bench. He stretched dramatically and Eskimo took the opportunity to punch him lightly in the stomach. He let out a short gasp and swatted her hand away as she gave him a smug grin. 

“Good night! We’ll miss you!” She called after him as he left the cafeteria. The moment he entered his cell, the electronic buzz signaled lockdown for the night. The inmates only had a few minutes to get to their cells before they are locked for the night. 

Songbird washed his face again with the ice cold water and hopped onto the top bunk. He thought again about the strange conversation until another electronic buzz echoed through his cell. The large metal door clanked shut. He sighed and laid on his stomach. He hated sleeping on his stomach, but he had no other choice with the large cage strapped to his back. He closed his eyes as the final buzz of the day sounded and the yellow glow behind his eyelids abruptly turned to complete darkness. 


	2. ...In Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you much for reading! Again, this is my first fanfiction I have ever posted, so please do not be shy with your comments and criticism! Enjoy!

****

The monotonous electronic buzz broke the silence and the yellow lights ridded the prison of its darkness. Usually, the winged man immediately left his bed to begin another redundant day. This morning was different. Songbird stayed lying in his bunk, face buried in his pillow. His mind was racing from a conversation. A conversation that he wasn’t sure actually happened. Was it a dream? Did a guard actually tell him that they were getting transferred?

His thoughts were interrupted when his door clanked open. Closing his eyes tightly, he sighed and pushed himself up into a sitting position. The line of inmates began passing his cell, a few of them eyeing Songbird as they went. 

Songbird avoided eye contact with them as he hopped out of bed. He landed awkwardly and hissed as his ankle twisted. Grunting in pain as he began hobbling out of his cell, he silently cursed himself. His mind was light years away.

Grabbing his depressing breakfast, the winged man found his two companions and sat across from them at the familiar table. He moved the eggs around on his plate before giving them a hesitant taste. They were dreadfully dry and nearly crunched between his teeth. Swallowing as much as he could, he spat the rest out on his tray. His tongue was still stuck out of his mouth when he glanced at his friends to see their reaction to the pitiful excuse for food.

Scurvy shrugged. “Better than yesterday.” He mumbled through a mouthful of the eggs that could be mistaken for sand. Songbird grimaced in disgust and turned toward Eskimo, hoping she would agree with his opinion on the meal. To his surprise, Eskimo also seemed to not have a problem eating.

“You guys are sick.” Songbird pushed the tray of eggs away from him as he set to gnawing on the bread-shaped rock. He was hungry. They all were hungry. Songbird wished his hunger lowered his standards when it comes to food quality, but he still could not bring himself to eat most of the meals served to them. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes as some inmates began gathering around the doors that lead to the courtyard. Songbird scanned the group of people, not looking for anyone in particular. He recognized the majority of them. It was rare that a new inmate would show up. Most of the mutants that could be discovered already were.

Suddenly, Songbird stood up, the bench clattering to the floor behind him. His two companions jumped in surprise and both started to say something that fell on Songbird’s deaf ears. The winged man was already making his way to the gathered group. 

His eyes were locked on the guard that spoke to him yesterday. The guard unlocked the door and the flood of people entered the courtyard. Songbird waited for the crowd to disperse before approaching the guard. 

As the inmates shuffled into the yard, Songbird made a beeline towards the familiar guard. He opened his mouth to ask the guard one of the many questions taking up most of his thoughts, but before he could speak, the guard grabbed the cage on his back and roughly pushed him forward into the yard. 

“Move along, prisoner.” The guard commanded. By the time Songbird caught his balance and turned back to look at the guard, the guard’s attention was already elsewhere. The many questions in his mind multiplied.

Songbird was positive that they had a conversation yesterday, or at least, almost positive. He found himself questioning his own memories. Maybe he had only dreamt what he wanted to dream. Maybe the glimmer of hope he was feeling wasn’t even real.

Today the bitter wind didn’t bother him. He crossed the icy field to his usual spot where he could watch the comings and goings of the people who worked at the prison. A few signs that the protesters were using yesterday still littered the entrance. Most of them read something similar to “mutants are human.” Mutants no longer had human rights.

He turned his attention away from the signs and back to his thoughts. Even if he couldn’t decide if the conversation was real or not, he concluded that holding onto his newfound hope a little longer wouldn’t hurt. It wouldn’t hurt until he got backhanded by disappointment.

Hearing the whistles, Songbird looked up in surprise. It was already time to head to the cafeteria again. For the first time, he would have preferred to continue to stand in the frigid yard. He wasn’t willing to tell his friends about the conversation yet. He didn’t want them to get too hopeful only to be disappointed.

He grabbed his tray and stared down at the chicken. This was usually the meal of the day that was most stomachable. Today’s chicken looked surprisingly acceptable. 

Songbird’s chicken related thoughts were interrupted by Eskimo. “Fly back down to Earth, will you?” She joked, smacking him gently on the back of the head. Songbird stared blankly at his friends for a few moments, contemplating again whether or not he should tell them about the mysterious conversation.

“What happened at breakfast?” Scurvy inquired as Eskimo nodded her head vigorously. Songbird had suspected that this would be the first topic for discussion. 

“I...I thought I saw someone I knew. Someone I knew before I got here. I guess I was mistaken.” Songbird decided he was only half lying, so it relaxed his conscious slightly.

“Riiiiiight. With your dad, I’m sure you knew loads of mutants.” Eskimo rolled her eyes, recalling the stories that they told each other much earlier in their relationships. 

The winged man tensed at the mention of his father and returned to the examination of his lunch. He took a tentative bite and was pleased to find it palatable. Once again, the words of his friends fell on deaf ears as he attempted to focus on his food and push thoughts of his father out of his mind. He was not successful.

After finishing his small lunch, Songbird glanced at his companions still locked in conversation. He watched them closely. They seemed so strangely content. They smiled and laughed and joked. They still had that life in their eyes that shined brighter than the sickening yellow lights that hung above them. Songbird wondered if he had lost that light. 

Songbird clenched his jaw and stood up to leave. “Where are you going?” Eskimo looked at him so sincerely and Scurvy followed her gaze with a concerned grimace. Songbird found himself blinking rapidly since his eyes had suddenly decided to well with tears.

“I...I’ve got to get to work.” He mumbled quickly before stumbling to the closet that held his cleaning supplies. His sudden emotional outburst confused him. Rarely did he think about his father and life before this prison. The conversation with the guard has given him a spark of hope that one day he may be able to live a life like that again. Perhaps he could even live a life better than before.

Staring down at the tendrils of the mop pushing water around, Songbird thought back to the day his father realized his greatest fear. His father discovered that his own son was a mutant. His son was the thing that he hated the most. Songbird remembered desperately sawing at his shoulder blades, forcing his wings down to bloody stumps. They grew so quickly. He had to chop at them almost daily. 

Inevitably, his father walked in on him while he was taming his wings one day. The disappointment and blame in his father’s eyes is something Songbird will not easily forget. His own father blamed him for his mutation. His own father helped to spark a war on mutants. If Songbird were to simply accept the cure, he would be free today. Only, he wouldn’t be Songbird anymore. He would be someone else; someone he wouldn’t recognize. 

If it weren’t for his father’s efforts against mutants, maybe Songbird would still walk free. If it weren’t for his father, maybe all mutants would still be free. Thinking in hypotheticals wouldn’t help free them though. The only purpose it served was to frustrate Songbird as he thought of things that would never happen.

Sighing in defeat, he put his mop and bucket back in the supply closet. He was feeling less and less like telling his friends about the possible transfer. The guard said there would be people there that would help them. The guard said they weren’t alone. It could have just been a sick joke the guard played on him to make him think there were some people who still cared.

Songbird grabbed a tray of food and sat with his friends. They both greeted him cheerfully. Tonight’s dinner consisted of what appeared to be tacos. Songbird unrolled them and dumped the meat and beans out, and began chewing on the stale tortillas. He zoned in and out during dinner, joining the conversation every once in a while to not appear too distant. 

The buzzer that signaled the end of the day sounded and Songbird was more than happy to head to the solitude of his cell. He bid is friends farewell and joined the mob of inmates headed towards his own cellblock. Once he reached his cell, he splashed cold water onto his face before jumping into the top bunk. As he settled himself into a sitting position another buzz sounded and was accompanied by the echoing clanks of hundreds of cell doors closing. Songbird leaned his head back against the cold cement of his wall and rubbed his temples. As the final buzz of the day met his ears, darkness pressed against his eyes. He sighed and closed his eyes, finding that his vision was not more obscured than it was when they were open. His mind set itself to the task of thinking for the night.


	3. Cement

No rest came to the winged man. At some point during the night, his back became so sore from both the awkward sitting position and the heavy cage attached to it that he collapsed onto the hard mattress. Laying on his stomach, he realized that every breath he took was painful and strained. His lungs had to push against the metal cage with every inhale and proceed to be crushed by that metal cage with every exhale. Songbird suddenly questioned how he ever slept in this position.

With his racing mind and his strikingly uncomfortable sleeping arrangement, Songbird found no sleep. He thought back to early days in the camp. The other mutants blamed him for his father’s actions. He remembered being so confused because his father locked up his own son. Of course Songbird was unlike his father because here he stood before his fellow mutants. Songbird understands now. The other mutants were blinded by white-hot rage. The same rage that now gathers inside Songbird at the thought of his father.

As surprising as it may seem, Songbird’s father did visit him in the camp. The first time his father stepped foot into this camp was to help escort his own son to his cell. He can’t forget that day. His father closed the door to his son’s cell and stared into his eyes as he told him that “this is what’s right.” 

The second time his father came was to help design tools to restrict each mutant’s powers. More and more dangerous mutants were being put in these cells and it was beginning to overwhelm the guards. Songbird’s wing cage was designed by his father. 

The third and final time his father entered this camp was to fit Songbird with the cage. He wanted to fit some of the mutants with their equipment to be sure it was done properly. The cage had to be welded onto him to ensure that he could not remove it himself. Songbird remembers being pinned to the floor by guards as his wings were wrenched into a too small cage. He was held down as the blowtorch was used to heat the metal, singeing his skin in the process. His father left before the metal was even cooled, leaving Songbird huddled on the floor of his cell. 

The straps of that cage created a leather “X” across his chest. It was a sick reminder of the X-Men that once proudly displayed the same letter that now marked Songbird’s captivity. Songbird’s heart always sank when he glanced at the mirror in his cell. 

The yellow lights flickered on above the winged man’s bed. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or irritated that the day was starting. It was an interruption to his thoughts, though his thoughts were getting increasingly unpleasant. He hopped out of bed, but averted his eyes from the mirror hanging above his sink. 

The monotonous hum was followed by the clanking of hundreds of metal doors. Hundreds of doors opened, but not Songbird’s. The man took a step back in surprise and pulled on the bars of his door. They didn’t budge. The other prisoners glanced curiously into the locked cell. The doors had always opened. This had never happened since Songbird first entered the prison.

Watching the line of prisoners dissipate into the mess hall, Songbird grew more and more panicked. He knew that Scurvy and Eskimo would be wondering where he had gone. Prisoners don’t just vanish. 

Soon after the walkway was clear of prisoners, three guards approached the cell. They appeared to be getting instructions from their radios. They exchanged a few confused glances before one shrugged and turned to Songbird. 

“Hands against the back wall, prisoner!” His voice echoed harshly through the silent cell block. Songbird quickly obeyed, leaning his hands on the wall opposite from the door. He heard the “blip” that signified one of the men was about to use his radio.

“Open it up.” The door clanked open and Songbird flinched slightly at the sudden breach of silence. He also found it strange that the guard did not need to say which cell to open. He heard the three men shuffling into the room and roughly pull him off the wall.

“Keep your hands in front of you.” One of the other guards stated loudly as he wrapped a chain around Songbird’s waist. The other two guards set to handcuffing his ankles and wrists. The cuffs around his wrists looped around the chain on his waist so that the winged man’s arm movement was restricted to a few inches. The ankle cuffs were connected to a chain that also looped around his waist chain. 

“We move.” A guard grabbed the back of Songbird’s neck to lead him towards to the cell door. The hand guided the shackled man to the left, away from the cafeteria and other mutants. The faint voices of the other inmates could be heard and Songbird attempted to glance in their direction, but his head was quickly wrenched away.

Songbird had never heard the hall this silent. Even in the dead of night, the other mutants seemed incapable of remaining silent. The sudden change in atmosphere sent an icy shiver of unease down the winged man’s spine.

The guards flanked Songbird. Two walked on either side of him and the last one followed him closely. Nudges from the guards communicated which direction to turn. Songbird had never stepped foot in this part of the prison. It looked like an intake area where mutants were held before entering their cells. The guards stopped him in front of a large metal door with no windows or bars. 

The man to the right of Songbird unlocked the door. It appeared to be a interrogation room of some sort, with a two-way glass mirror spanning one wall and a single table and pair of chairs decorating the room. Sitting at the table was Songbird’s father.

“Warren.” His father stated as a greeting, but didn’t rise from his seat and barely looked at his son, as though he were mildly disgusted by the young man before him.

“Father.” The shackled man returned the greeting with the exact tone through clenched teeth. His father wrinkled his nose at his son’s word and turned his eyes to the ceiling.

“I’m here strictly on business.” Warren’s father finally rose from his seat and took a step towards his son. “You happen to have an asset that could prove useful in one of my investments.” The older man’s eyes didn’t meet Warren’s, but rather the leather against his chest.

“I’m not going to help you.” Warren scoffed. Though he had to admit he was curious as to how he could be useful to his father, he had a sinking feeling about his visit.

His father sighed dramatically, leaning against the table screwed into the cement floor. “I knew you would be difficult.” He pushed off the table towards his son. “As I’m sure you remember, I have an investment in Adamantium. We have a small plant set up in a cave to keep the Adamantium at the proper temperature until we are ready to use it. The problem is that we are working with a ton of delicate equipment in a cave that we would also like to harvest ore from. Our drones are too careless to harvest from the walls and ceiling of our little plant, so that’s where you come in.”

“You want me to fly around your camp and pull metal out of the walls? Why would I do that? I don’t have to do any work right here.” Warren responded in a tone that he hoped sounded bored.

His father rolled his eyes and took one of Warren’s straps in his hand. “If you come with me, we will obviously take this off.” He released the strap and shoved Warren, whose restricted arms and wings both attempted to catch his balance. 

“And if you don’t,” his father continued, “I will make this place into a new hell. Not just for you, but also for your buddies.” Looking at the glass, his father nodded. The mirror became a window and he saw Eskimo and Scurvy standing on the other side, watching the altercation.

“Don’t involve them, please.” Warren pleaded, stepping towards his father. Warren bit his lip, shook his head, and screwed his eyes shut. When he opened them, he met his father’s eyes. “I’ll do it.” 

“Excellent!” His father smiled and clapped. “Now we should see what what we are working with because if you aren’t in flying shape when we get to the cave, the other workers will probably just kill you.” His father for some reason found amusement in that statement and began laughing to himself. Warren’s eyes met his friends’. They offered sad, but sympathetic smiles.

One of the guards that must have entered the room with Warren’s father placed a pair of what looked to be gardening shears on the metal table. His father grabbed them with a slight nod to the guard and walked towards Warren. Warren instinctively took a step away from the giant pair of scissors approaching him. 

“Stay still.” His father warned. “If these don’t work, we have a blowtorch too.” His father looked into Warren’s face, hoping to see a panicked response. When he didn’t get one, he pushed one blade of the shears under the first strap near Warren’s shoulder. He brought the other blade down as hard and fast as he could, and the first strap severed and fell away. The guards supported the cage on his back as it was now only attached by one strap.

His father cut the strap on the other side, releasing the cage altogether. The guards helped to gently pull the cage off of Warren. Once the cage was removed, Warren’s wings felt heavier than they did with the cage. Instead of them fanning strongly, they hung from his back limply and nearly touched the floor.

His father stared at his son with disappointment. The pins and needles sensation in Warren’s wings was almost overwhelming. When he attempted to flex the muscles to raise his wings, they spasmed weakly and cramped. Warren let out a scream of anguish and fell to his knees.

“I didn’t realize they would atrophy this much.” His father stated simply. He lifted Warren’s left wing, extracting another scream from the man below him. He dropped the wing and it floated uselessly to the floor.

“You did this to me.” Warren spat, glaring up at his father. His wrists strained against the cuffs, droplets of blood pooling on the floor beneath them. 

“It’s not my fault you are the way you are. I’m going to have a word with the doctor. I’ll be back.” Stepping over Warren, his father was let out of the room by one of the guards. 

The moment his father left, Warren’s eyes fell to his friends again. They had never seen his wings out of the cage and they were almost certainly disappointed as well. Scurvy nodded slightly, but they were not able to communicate much to Warren.

The door was unlocked again and Warren visibly flinched that the sudden noise. His father stepped back into the room, followed by a familiar doctor to Warren.

“Ah, this one was in and out of the infirmary all the time. A bit of a troublemaker, but I always made sure he had minimal scarring.” The doctor traced over some of the scars with a gloved hand before moving to the base of his wings. He followed the entire muscle of Warren’s wings until he reached the very end of them.

“The muscles have atrophied severely, as I’m sure you gathered. Though, his wings do have some regenerative properties. I would give it 12 to 24 hours before we start worrying. They might return to normal on their own.” Before standing up, the doctor pulled a feather from Warren’s wing. 

“I take one every time I have to check up on your son. It helps me to keep track of things.” The doctor explained before shaking Warren’s father’s hand and leaving the room.

His father sighed and shook his head. He sat down in one of the chairs and stared down at Warren. Roaring in anger, his father brought his fist down against the metal table. The sudden noise caused Warren to shuffle backwards awkwardly, his shackles clinking.

“Stand up.” His father ordered. Warren struggled to find his feet since the ankle cuffs severely hindered his leg movement. As he rose, he hissed in pain. The weight of his wings pulled harshly at the weak muscles. His breathing was labored as he looked to his father.

“I’ll be returning to collect you sometime tomorrow.” Warren’s father stated curtly before standing up, fists clenched. He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath before his fist collided with Warren’s jaw. The shock and pain of the strike forced Warren to his knees.

Warren’s father took another deep breath and grabbed Warren’s face in his hands. Instinctively, Warren attempted to pull away, but his father kept a vice-like grip on his jaw. Warren stared up at his father with fear as he awaited further punishment.

“You make me so angry.” Warren’s father explained very simply. “If you are not ready when I arrive tomorrow, I’m taking you anyway.” Warren made a small involuntary noise from the back of his throat.

Grabbing Warren by the neck, his father pulled his son’s head close to his own. “And I’ll let my boys take their anger out on you. You’ll be good for something, wings or not.” His voice was dripping with poison and malice. 

Warren’s father dropped his hands, freeing Warren. The winged man released a breath he did not realize he was holding. His moment of relief was cut short by a swift kick to his ribcage. Warren once again collapsed to the floor, winded and gasping. 

Looking his son up and down, Warren’s father pressed his boot onto the back of the younger man. Warren froze, feeling the pressure against his sore muscles. His father was just resting his boot on his back, but Warren knew how quickly damage could be done in this position.

“Father...please...don’t do it.” A quiet plea came from the man on the floor. His father rolled his eyes and scoffed. He shifted his weight so all of it was applied to the winged man. Warren released a scream of agony and wriggled weakly in attempt to escape, clawing desperately at the cement floor.

“You’re pathetic.” He hissed at the man beneath him. Warren’s father lifted his boot for a moment before stomping it harshly on Warren’s back. The winged man let out a pained yelp before inching away from his aggressor. 

“You’ll stay in this room until I come for you tomorrow. I’m taking you with me no matter what state you’re in. See you tomorrow, son.” The man growled at Warren, putting a mocking emphasis on the word “son.”

“Keep him just as he is until I get here tomorrow. I don’t want any delays.” His father explained to the guard as he unlocked the door to let the older man out. Taking one last look at the bleeding mess on the floor, he couldn’t help but to smirk. 

Hearing the lock click back into place, Warren allowed himself to let out the sobs that he was holding in his throat. His sobs turned into coughs as he realized the pain that his chest was in. He tried to bring his hands up to cradle his throbbing ribs, but the shackles stopped his wrists a few inches short.

The guard closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, approaching Warren. Pupils blown with fear, Warren stared up at the guard. Grabbing the keys at his hip, the guard released Warren’s wrists from the tight cuffs.

“I just watched your own father torture you.” The guard sat in the chair. “You deserve a kindness, even if it is just a small one.” Smiling sadly at the winged man, the guard extended his hand to him.

“I…” Warren began, accepting the guard’s hand and pulling himself into a sitting position on the floor. “Thank you...thank you.” 

The guard simply nodded at Warren in acknowledgement before continuing. “I don’t know how someone could treat their own son like that.” He leaned back in his chair, watching Warren examine the bloody bracelets he now donned. 

“I’m sorry.” The guard only needed to say those simple words. It had been so long since Warren had heard those words said meaningfully. Warren hurt. He hurt everywhere. Physically, mentally, emotionally. He stared up at the guard who gave him a reassuring smile.

They sat like that for a moment. Silently appreciating each other’s company. Eventually, the guard stood and began walking towards the door.

“I’m going to see if I can get you some lunch. You won’t heal if you don’t eat.” The guard unlocked the door and slipped out. The now familiar click of the lock sounded and Warren was alone in the empty room.

He glanced down at his chest to see a handful of bruises blossoming amongst the skin rubbed raw by the leather straps. His father was right, he was pathetic. He had begged his father. He begged and it didn’t even work.

Exhaustion pulled Warren to sit against the wall. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Nearly instantly, sleep took him under.

Laughter woke the winged man and he glanced around the small room, confused. The door unlocked and swung open, making the laughter grow louder. Three guards he didn’t recognize stepping into the room, cheerfully. The first one that entered the room surveyed it carefully before a sinister grin crossed his face.

“None of the cameras are recording, boys.” He laughed, patting the backs of his companions. “It’s open season in here and mutants are fair game.” The smile the man gave Warren made the winged man feel sick. He was trapped.

Warren and the guards noticed the plate of food and cup of water sitting on the table at the same time. Warren thought about the kind guard that successfully found him food. One of the guards that currently occupied the room grabbed the cup of water and took a sip, moaning dramatically. Warren quickly realized how parched he was.

“Oh, were you thirsty?” The guard took one more sip before lobbing the glass cup at the wall, just to the right of Warren’s head. The winged man flinched and used his arms to protect his face as the glass shattered next to him. “Oops. Sorry.” The guard said laughing as Warren watched the drops of water slither down the concrete.

The three men stalked towards Warren. The man below them nervously looked between the guards. A plea for mercy nearly escaped his throat instinctively. He stopped himself, knowing that begging would only prolong his suffering.

Before he could even wonder what the men were planning for him, he was backhanded across the face. The force snapped his head to the side and the back of his skull crashed into the hard concrete wall. 

“Who the fuck uncuffed you?” One of the guards screamed into Warren’s face, crouching down to be eye-level. Warren stared that the floor, unable to meet the man’s eyes. He choked on his words, only letting out a small whimper.

“Something wrong with you?” One of the other guards kicked Warren sharply in the ribs. “Answer the damn question.” 

“Another guard. They were hurting me, so he helped me.” Warren realized how pathetic the words sounded as they spilled out of his mouth, but he was too scared to lie. He watched the guards roll their eyes and scoff.

“I think we might hurt you a little worse than those cuffs. But,” the guards paused, grinning again while looking at Warren’s wings, “I think I have an idea. Leave him uncuffed.”

The guard held his hands out expectantly and the other two places knives in them. One was what appeared to be a hunting knife and the other was a kitchen knife.

“The more you struggle, the more this will hurt. I know what I want to do and I’m going to do it. Only you get to decide how long it takes.” The guard condescendingly explained, caressing Warren’s cheek with the blade of the kitchen knife. The hunting knife was making tiny cuts as the guard absentmindedly dragged it up and down Warren’s bare torso.

Warren nodded shakily, feeling the blade scrape against his cheek. The guard smiled and removed both blades, standing up. He nodded to his companions who quickly started grabbing at Warren’s arms to force him to stand. Finding his feet, Warren took a deep breath.

“Spread your wings.” The guard commanded, pressing Warren against the concrete wall. Warren obeyed, splaying his wings across the wall behind him. He was surprised when they responded. The muscles cramped slightly at the movement, but they actually moved.

“Okay. Hold his arms out and see how far they reach down his wings.” The two guards spread Warren’s arms so they were in front of his wings as the lead guard kept him pinned against the wall. There were quite a few inches of wing that extended past his outstretched arms. The guards marked where his reach ended on the wall with a black marker.

“You, keep him still.” The lead guard commanded the man that was previously holding out his right arm. “I need you to hold this wing still.” He said to the man holding his left arm. Letting Warren’s arm go, he held the wing in place against the wall. The other man pinned Warren against the wall with his body.

Warren struggled weakly against the guards. The three of them easily overpowered the already weakened man whenever he lashed out. With his arms free, Warren attempted to shove the men off him, but the one who was pinning him against the wall pressed his forearm against Warren’s throat threateningly.

The lead guard held the kitchen knife in one hand and the hunting knife in the other. He pressed the tip of the kitchen knife into the flesh of Warren’s wing, just past the mark on the wall. Warren gasped in pain and shock as he realized exactly what this man intended to do to him. He was going to pin Warren’s wings to the wall as if he were a butterfly in a display case. A fire was lit inside of Warren and he struggled harder with his newfound fight.

The lead guard paused for a moment to watch the terrified man attempt his escape. He laughed to himself as he plunged the kitchen knife into the flesh of Warren’s right wing. Warren attempted to scream, but all of his muscles were clenched in pain. Using the hilt of the hunting knife as a hammer, the lead guard pounded the knife deeper into the wing and eventually into the cement wall. He gave it an experimental tug and nodded when it didn’t budge from the wall.

Warren’s left wing flapped feebly in attempt to get away, while his right wing simply twitched slightly in its new and restricted position. The agony his wing was experiencing coursed through the wing and into his spine. His mind was reeling and he couldn’t form a word to save his life. He let out a weak sob as the men stood in front of his left wing.

The guards to longer needed to hold him down since every movement Warren attempted was stopped short by a jolt of pain radiating from his right wing. They carried out the same process with the left wing. The hunting knife was pressed into the wing, just beyond the mark. After plunging the knife into the delicate flesh, he used his flashlight as a hammer to secure Warren to the wall. This time, a scream of agony tore through Warren.

Once they had finished, the guards took a step back to admire their handiwork. The feathers that were just beginning to return to their pearly white were now a glistening crimson. Warren weakly reached for the knife in his left wing, but it was just out of reach. He focused his attention to the ground in defeat.

Warren’s breaths came in weak and unsteady gasps, careful not to shift his body since every movement sent shooting pains up his wings. Every couple of breaths, a moan would escape his lips. After a few moments of steadying himself, Warren looked up at the guards that attacked him.

“As much as we would like to stick around, we’ve got to get back to work. We’ll let first shift deal with you in the morning.” One of the guards explained with a laugh. They turned to leave.

“Why...why would you do this?” Warren groaned out, hissing as he accidentally leaned forward. 

“Because,” the lead guard started, approaching the restrained man, “because we can. Because you deserve this.” The guard locked eyes with Warren before grabbing the winged man’s shoulders and pushing him down towards the ground. Warren could feel his muscles tearing as more strain was applied to his already weakened wings. 

Warren’s screaming only died when his body fell limp. Droplets of blood pooled beneath crimson wings as the guards left the room and locked it behind them. He was swept into unconsciousness to escape the agony.


End file.
